


Her Hunter

by GaleWrites



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Vignette, could be shippy if you want it to be, implied backstory romance, important moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27398512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaleWrites/pseuds/GaleWrites
Summary: Meaningful moments where the life of the Hunter and the Doll intersect, and what happens as a result.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Her Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Razia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razia/gifts).



The Doll had seen so many hunters. Brash ones, bold ones, terrified ones, wiley ones, ones halfway to beasts and some too feral to ever really know the difference. None of them made more than a passing impression on her, just ripples on the clear lake of her existence. After the first few she had come to know and mourn, she did not let herself become too attached. Hunters were such temporary things, always on a fast track to an early grave or an eternal nightmare that could not be reached. No matter how many times they came to her, spoke to her, wandered her garden, they would be gone too soon to matter.

But then the Hunters stopped coming. The Doll would never know how long she had waited with only the bitter old man for company. She knew as that awful time went on that he had given up on any more ever showing up, and she feared she had as well.

Both of them were shocked when one showed up, aeons later, fighting mad but without the faintest idea of where she was or what was happening in Yharnam. She was a thin little wisp of a thing, who looked barely able to lift her weapon, but she never faltered or hesitated when she chose it. The Doll could not see her fight, but she had seen her practice swings when she thought she was alone in the garden.

At first, she came again and again, so frequently it seemed to the Doll that barely any time could have passed, but her visits grew more infrequent, and the Doll hoped this was a sign she was learning.

The first time they met, the Hunter was terrified, desperate, and confused. Judging by the way she looked around wildly, weapon at the ready, the Doll knew she must have just been killed. She had not yet expected the Hunter to be able to truly see her, but she stood anyway, strangely fascinated by this newest Hunter who seemed to approach everything with such an intensity about her.

The Hunter jumped and flinched back, weapon reaching out to point warningly at the Doll. “Who are you?” she asked, and the Doll smiled at the music of her voice. She was well used to being roughly handled by Hunters, and had long since taken it in stride. Their lives were full of such blood and horror, she did not begrudge them their instincts or impulses.

The Doll delivered the same speech she’d given so many times before, to so many different hunters. The words were well worn in her mouth, flowing freely even though it was often difficult to grasp the languages of the Hunters. She was a creature of stillness and moonlight, gentle looks and silent compassion. Words so rarely felt like they had a place in her mouth.

The Hunter frowned at her, putting away her weapon. “I asked *who* you are, not what you are.” She pointed out. 

“I…. do not understand.” The Doll answered after a moment’s hesitation. “I am the Doll. This is all that I am.”

“You don’t have a name?” the Hunter asked skeptically.

The Doll shook her head slowly. “I do not. Would it make you more comfortable to use one for me?”

“Do you  _ want _ a name?” the Hunter asked instead.

She thought it over, then shook her head again. “I do not believe that it would matter to me. I have never wished for a name.”

The Hunter shrugged. “If that’s how you want it. Next question-  _ how are you a doll? _ ”

This question also confused the Doll. “I was created to aid the Hunters here. A human form, created by humans, is that not a doll?”

“Well, or a mannequin, or a statue, or a toy soldier.” The Hunter replied. “But I suppose none of those can move like you do. Not that a doll moves on its own power normally either…”

The Doll smiled at her. “Do you always spend so much time questioning what and how things are? It seems a deadly passtime for a hunter.”

“How could I ever get anything done in this nightmare enigma of a city without asking those questions?” The Hunter demanded, one hand on her hip, and the Doll felt a rush of fondness for her that she could not explain.

She shrugged delicately. “I could not say. I have never been there. I have only ever been here, for as long as I can remember. I only know what other hunters have told me.”

“Do you know what those… things are?” the Hunter asked, eyes lit up with what the Doll assumed must be curiosity. “The old man wouldn’t explain properly and no one else will talk to me at all, except for a little girl.”

The Doll tilted her head curiously. How could anyone become a hunter without even knowing what a Beast was? “They are Beasts. Creatures formed by corrupted blood. Most of them were human, once.”

“Are… you sure? Some of them look human enough, but… others less so.” The Hunter frowned worriedly.

“I… only know what I have been told.” The Doll told her, glancing over to the house where Gehrman sat, no doubt able to answer all of her questions, if only he were willing. “But… anything that has consumed corrupted blood may itself become a Beast. Whether through blood ministration, eating the flesh of the corrupted, or any other means.”

The Hunter shuddered. “That explains the crows, at least. But…” She looked down at the arm that had been covered in a bloody bandage when she’d first arrived.

The Doll nodded. “You must have some corrupted blood in you as well, for you to be here. A Hunter must have some of the beast in herself to do her work."

“Is there a cure?” The Hunter asked after a moment.

“I would not know. You might ask Gehrman, if anyone would know, it would be him.”

The Hunter looked over to the house and sighed. “Do you know how I keep coming back here after I die? Will that stop at some point?”

The Doll hesitated, knowing all too well the sorts of things that would stop the cycle. 

“There are ways.” She replied, unwilling and unable to tackle exactly what those sort of ways would be. “But for now, you will always wake up here.”

The Hunter waited for her to continue, then shrugged when she did not. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

With that, she stepped over to a tombstone and vanished. The Doll wore a faint smile when she went back to sleep, although she was uncertain why.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hunter did indeed keep coming back and back, sometimes triumphant, sometimes annoyed, but always with an aura of stubbornness that spoke to something in the Doll. Whether she was there to channel echoes or just due to a death, she always took the time to speak to the Doll, even just for a moment. The Doll wasn’t sure why she cared, but she deeply appreciated every one of those tiny conversations.

The Doll had not initiated any of them since the first, feeling somehow both that it was not her place and that they were infinitely more precious when given of the Hunter’s own volition. Perhaps it was the long loneliness, perhaps it was the odd touch of destiny about this one, but something about her made the Doll pay more attention, treasuring each little interaction all the more for having so few for so long.

Today, however, it seemed she might have to take initiative. When the Hunter arrived, she didn’t look determined or angry, she just looked glum, walking off to the furthest corner of the garden and sitting there alone for quite some time. The Doll wasn’t sure if it was her place to interrupt whatever was going on, but the Hunter seemed unhappy and something in her wanted to help.

“Good Hunter, are you well?” She asked gently, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder.

The Hunter sighed. “I didn’t sign up to fight and kill *people*. I mean… I didn’t sign up for this at all, but… especially not for this.”

The Doll nodded. “What happened? Who… Who is trying to fight you?”

“There’s this woman. Dressed like a crow, I don’t know her name. She seemed nice. Still sane and all. But now she’s gone off on me and I don’t know why. Maybe she’s finally losing it, I don’t know her well enough to know. I don’t want to kill her, but I don’t know that I’ll have a choice. She knows I’m coming back, she mentioned the Dream.” The Hunter hesitated, then turned to look at the Doll. 

“She said to say hello to you for her. Do you know her?”

The Doll stood still for a very long moment before slowly pulling her hand away. “A foreign woman, correct? With a low, raspy voice?”

The Hunter nodded. “And a heavy accent.”

“That… would be Eileen.” The Doll did not sigh, but something about her voice and expression made it clear she would have, if that was a thing she did. “She used to be a true Hunter. Before she became a hunter of hunters. Back when such divisions mattered.”

The Hunter sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It is the fate of a hunter. Perhaps the kindest possible fate of a hunter. There are other, worse fates…" The Doll glanced over at a very specific tombstone the Hunter did not yet know the use for. 

The Hunter looked over at it curiously. "Worse fates?"

"Not for you." The Doll told her, turning away with a shake of her head. "You, I think, are on a different path. The ancient echoes sing with the possibilities."

“You’re not going to distract me from this again.” The Hunter insisted. “You keep dodging the question of what happens to hunters, but I need to know. I have a  _ right _ to know.”

The Doll was silent for long enough the Hunter seemed to be considering asking again before answering in a halting, hesitant tone that seemed alien to her normally melodic voice. “There is a… place. If this is the hunters’ dream, it would be… their nightmare. A place where those hunters who succumb to beast madness or blood rage end up. I have never been there, nor spoken with anyone who has, but...I have seen glimpses.”

The Hunter considered that for a long moment herself. “That’s why there are hunters of hunters? To save people from that?”

The Doll nodded. “Their ways are strange and make them no friends, so there are many stories suggesting less altruistic answers, but that was what she told me, the last time we spoke.”

“And she will have been the last.” The Hunter said, not phrasing it as a question. “Someone will have to do something.”

“There are so few hunters left, I doubt if there is much more to be done.” The Doll told her gently. “You are the only one who can still come here. There can’t be many left of the ones who cannot.”

The Hunter glanced toward the headstone with a frown. “You just told me yourself where I can find a great deal of hunters who need help.”

“It… cannot actually be reached until you are too far gone to help,” The Doll told her, alarm clear in her voice, if not her face.

“Maybe.” The Hunter shrugged noncommittally and stepped over to a headstone that would take her back to Yharnam.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hunter grew quieter after that encounter, less inclined to deep conversation about the nature of the various oddities of Yharnam, more closed off. The Doll did not think it wise to comment on this, especially after the Hunter started using a very distinctive curved blade the Doll knew well. The sight of it was the answer to the question neither of them had dared speak of since their first conversation about the woman who’d wielded them.

This in itself would not have worried the Doll unduly. Hunters had died on her many times before, and while Eileen had been uniquely fond of her, the Doll had not yet admitted her own affection for the woman, let alone the depth of her true feelings on her death. The Hunter would not have killed her unless she thought it necessary, the Doll knew.

What did worry her was where the Hunter had started coming from. She seemed to have no more use for the tidy row of gravestones to the various places in Yharnam and the dimensions connected to it directly, nor for the row of [altars?] that lead to the remains of the Pthumerians. Instead, she came and went via the lonely gravestone the Doll had never thought could even actually be used. It had been intended as a memorial for those lost to the Nightmare, nothing more. It worried her to know that the Hunter had found a way into the horrific dimension it represented. 

Her Hunter- she wasn’t sure when she’d started thinking of this one as belonging to  _ her _ , but she couldn’t take it back now- did not speak of what she uncovered there, but judging by the visions the Doll had had of the place, it could not be good.

Even worse, though, something inside of her lived in fear of… something, now. The Doll could not place exactly where this dread was coming from, but the longer the Hunter explored the Nightmare, the more the Doll feared what she would find. She knew, without having any conscious way of knowing, that there were horrible secrets buried somewhere in the torment. She wished to spare the Hunter this knowledge, and she wished to spare herself whatever they might mean for her. That the Nightmare’s secrets had something to do with her she never questioned, and would have found the idea that they wouldn’t impossible to believe.

The Doll was therefore startled one day when, instead of dread, she awoke with a start at her resting place to the most intense sense of peace, feeling almost weightless from the loss of a burden she had not known she was carrying and still did not understand.

The Hunter came back before she had even processed all of this, and she approached her gladly. “Good hunter. This may sound strange, but... Have I somehow changed? Moments ago, from some place, perhaps deep within, I sensed a liberation from heavy shackles. Not that I would know... How passing strange…” She felt… oddly self conscious, which was not an emotion the Doll had known she could even feel.

The Hunter stared at her for a long moment, then smiled. “I’ve never seen you smile like this before, does that count?”

The Doll laughed, a musical cheery sound that the Dream may have never heard before. Certainly the Doll herself could not remember laughing. “Perhaps it does. Whatever you are doing… I did not see the wisdom of it, but I see now that I must have been wrong. I can feel the wheels of fate turning, making way for an old wrong to finally heal. Perhaps you can save them all.”

The Hunter smiled back at her. “I hope you’re right. I think… whatever is going on in there, I’m about to figure it out for real. This last doorway feels… final. I’m not sure… that last fight was already almost too much for me.”

The Doll put a hand on her shoulder. “You have done so many impossible things already. What would a few more be?”

“I suppose you’re right.” The Hunter replied, taking a deep breath. “But I think I need a minute. I can’t really… take a nap, but I wouldn’t mind sitting in the flowers for a while.”

The Doll smiled at her and pulled her into a gentle hug. “You have all the time you need.”


End file.
